He turns the screen toward me.
Group Chat: LAKEWOOD LOCKER ROOM ???? (Minus One)
Turbo (Tayler):“‘It’s the effect you have on me.’ BECKER, YOU SAP. I threw up a little from the sweetness. Or maybe from those oysters.”
Blaze (Liam):“Aphrodisiac ingredients, huh? Coach is fuming tonight.”
The Wall (Derek):“Coach said, ‘At least he didn’t cut off a finger. That’s a tactical win.’”
Saint (Javier):“That dish was biological warfare. Illegal for doping AND public safety.”
Turbo (Tayler):“P.S. The apron made your ass look flat.”
“Your ass? Flat?” I gasp on Cohen’s behalf. “That is NOT true!”
Cohen glances at me—eyes sparking with that dangerous heat.
“Want to check for yourself whether Turbo’s right, Angel?”
I blush—then lift my chin.
“Becker… don’t insult me. Obviously I’ve already enjoyed the view.”
He slips an arm around my shoulders as snow begins to fall again.
“So youdolike my ass?”
That damn arrogant smile.
60
Hearts Beating Too Hard
Cohen
The walk from the Central Hall back to our chalet is a complete blackout in my memory.
I know I walked. I know I held Sloane’s hand.
But my brain stayed behind—stuck on Joe’s smug face and the poison he spit at her.
You’re not built to take care of a man.
You can’t handle pressure.
You’re fragile.
I slam the chalet door shut and lock it with a hard click.
Inside, everything is quiet. The fire is low in the hearth.
The fury inside me is blinding—a white, buzzing noise in my ears.
I want to leave, storm back there, and finish what I started.
I want to make him choke on that stupid floral apron—along with his perfectly straight teeth.
And the more I replay it, the more it eats at me.
